One Wild Night With Her Enemy by Heidi Rice

CHAPTER NINE

CASSIE’SEYELIDSFLUTTEREDopen the next morning. Her body was rested, her stomach grumbling loudly, but when she moved she felt the tug of yearning, and a slight discomfort between her thighs.

Cocooned in a blanket, it took her a moment to register the blaze of mid-morning sunlight coming through the signature windows she recalled from three—no, four mornings ago, opposite the bed.

The scent of sea salt, wood resin and pine soap had her letting out a cautious breath.

She was back in Luke Broussard’s bed—which had to be why she’d slept so peacefully.

She rolled over, scared to look. But the bed beside her was empty, the room quiet except for the accelerated sound of her own breathing. She stifled the foolish sting of disappointment.

The events of last night came tumbling back in fits and starts—the stark shock of Luke’s presence in the kitchen, the crippling fear brought on by the power cut, the humiliation of how she’d clung to him in the darkness and then... His mocking smile, her bold challenge... The panic when she’d nearly revealed the truth about her virginity... And then the sex—raw, desperate, frantic, mind-blowing...

But that was all she remembered.

How had she ended up in Luke’s room?

She wriggled off the bed, keeping the blanket wrapped around her naked body, and shuffled towards the bedroom door, surprised at how rested she felt. More energised and clear-eyed than she could remember feeling since she’d landed in San Francisco and this whole disaster had begun.

She crossed the spacious room, her bare toes sinking into the thick pile carpet. But then she spotted a thick white sock, neatly folded on the dresser. Shrugging off the blanket, she reached out to stroke the wool.

It was one of the pair she’d been wearing yesterday. Had Luke taken it off her after carrying her upstairs?

A strange choking feeling constricted her throat. She swallowed convulsively and lifted her hand, bundling herself securely back in the blanket.

It’s just a sock.

At least they hadn’t made love after he’d brought her up here, because that would be even more humiliating. She was pretty sure she’d jumped him downstairs. Although he certainly hadn’t objected.

But why had he brought her to his room instead of hers?

She shook off the unhelpful question and opened the bedroom door to peek out. Whatever the reason, she did not want him to catch her in here now.

The buttery, syrupy smell coming from downstairs had the rumbling in her empty stomach turning to insistent growls.

Pancakes? Is he trying to torture me?

Tiptoeing to her own room, she headed straight into the en suite bathroom, dropped the blanket and darted into the shower.

She scrubbed the scent of him off her skin. She needed to get past the memories of last night, erase them from her consciousness before she confronted him and tried to make some sense of what she’d done... What they’d done... Again...

And figure out how on earth she was supposed to deal with it.

Ten minutes later, she made her way down the open staircase. The buttery aroma was almost as tantalising as the sight of Luke in baggy sweats and an old MIT T-shirt, busy flipping pancakes like a pro.

His head rose and his gaze locked on hers. ‘Hey,’ he said, his voice as raw as she suddenly felt.

She wrapped her arms around her midriff, thankful for his housekeeper’s jeans and baggy sweater. She pressed a hand to her damp hair in a foolish moment of vanity, then dropped it.

‘Hi,’ she managed round the thickness in her throat.

And to think she’d thought their first morning-after had been the most awkward moment in her life... Hello, awkward times a thousand.

He switched off the heat under the pan and slid the pancake he’d been cooking onto the pile warming on the hot plate. ‘Grab a seat,’ he said, nodding at the breakfast bar.

And she noticed the neatly prepared place-settings—knives, forks, plates, rolled napkins, glasses of orange juice, butter on a dish and a bottle of maple syrup.

Had he been waiting for her to wake up? Had he cooked breakfast especially for her? Why did the thought make the boulder in her throat swell to asteroid proportions?

Luke Broussard as an angry, demanding jerk was manageable.

Luke Broussard as a good guy was catastrophic.

‘Thank you,’ she managed, as she perched on one of the stools.

With the sizzle of frying pancakes no longer filling the silence he had to be able to hear her stomach—which was so empty it was practically inside out—doing its best mountain lion impression, but he didn’t comment as he brought the loaded plate to the table.

‘I’m famished,’ she said, just to make him aware that she appreciated the effort.

‘Yeah, I can tell,’ he said, the rueful quirk of his mouth doing nothing to mitigate her embarrassment.

Hadn’t she devoured those firm, sensual lips last night, like a starving woman?

That would be a yes.

He served himself a stack of expertly cooked pancakes, added a slab of butter, then doused them in a lake of syrup. ‘Dig in before they get cold,’ he prompted.

She didn’t need any more encouragement.

At least if they were eating she wouldn’t have to speak... Which was good, because she still did not have a single clue what to say about last night.

She concentrated on helping herself to three pancakes, swirling syrup over every inch of them, then slicing off a hefty triangle.

A low moan escaped her as the sinfully delicious combination of fluffy pancake, salty butter and sugary syrup melted in her mouth.

‘Bon?’he asked, the quirk of his lips now a definite smile.

She nodded enthusiastically. ‘Delicious,’ she said, then covered her mouth, which was still full of pancake.

He gave a low chuckle and she set about demolishing her stack and filling the empty void in her stomach.

Five minutes later she placed her knife and fork across her plate, her belly so full she was surprised it hadn’t burst. She raised her gaze to find him watching her. He was leaning back on his stool, his empty plate in front of him. Apparently he’d finished a while ago.

The colour leapt into her cheeks on cue.

Yo, awkward—how about company?

‘Sorry, you must think I’m an absolute pig,’ she said.

His eyebrow quirked, but then he smiled. One of those lazy, easy-going smiles that filled his emerald gaze with heat and approval. She recognised that smile because it was exactly the same smile he’d treated her to so many times on their first night—accepting, appreciative, impressed, aroused—before their first morning-after.

She swallowed, brutally aware of the effect that smile could still have on her as the warm glow—rich and full and misguided—shimmered right down to her toes.

‘Come here,’ he said, his gaze drifting to her mouth as he beckoned her towards him with his index finger.

She leant forward without thinking, and he glided his fingertip under her bottom lip.

She let out a small, shocked gasp and pulled back, but it was already too late. The light, fleeting touch brought with it a barrage of sensations.

His devastating smile widened as he brought his fingertip to his own lips and licked off the errant drop of syrup he’d captured.

The jolt of awareness in her too-full stomach became a lightning bolt.

‘I’ll clear up,’ she said, lifting the two plates, suddenly frantic to find something—anything—to dispel the sexual tension building again at breakneck speed.

His hand clamped on her wrist, sending a lightning bolt deep into her abdomen. ‘Leave them,’ he said.

‘But it’s only fair...’ she began to babble, trying not to notice the sizzle of sensation where his thumb stroked her wrist. Could he feel her pulse going haywire? ‘If you cooked, I should—’

‘You can do them later,’ he interrupted, the smile disappearing. ‘First we need to talk.’

He released her wrist, and the reprieve made her light-headed. Talk? He only wanted to talk. Surely she could handle that without bursting into flames... Or begging...

She sank back onto her stool, grateful for the granite breakfast bar between them, and let go of the plates. She dropped her hands to her lap, just in case he could see her pulse still going nuts.

‘What do you want to talk about?’ she asked with as much guilelessness as she could muster, while frantically rubbing the spot on her wrist where his touch still burned.

He frowned. ‘You know what,’ he said, pinning her with that intense gaze which had always had the ability to slice right through all her denials. And all her defences. Not that she’d ever really had any with him.

‘It shouldn’t have happened...’ she said, her frantic pulse almost as insistent as the look on his face. Because what else could she say?

‘What shouldn’t have happened?’ he asked.

‘You know what.’ She threw his words back at him, feeling the pancakes starting to dance in her stomach as her pulse continued to jiggle and jive.

‘No, actually, I don’t,’ he said. ‘Are we talking about when you came apart in my arms when the lights cut out, or when you came apart after they came back on again?’

She stared at him, quite sure her cheeks were so bright now they were probably visible in San Francisco. Was he actually for real, or was he just trying to ram his point home? That she’d been a basket case last night in more ways than one?

‘It’s a serious question,’ he said.

Fabulous, so now he’s a mind-reader, too.

‘Both, I suppose,’ she said, giving him the only serious answer she had. ‘If you want me to apologise again for my behaviour, I will.’

Although she didn’t feel apologetic. She just felt... Pathetic. The way she always had as a child, looking for the approval she was never going to get.

But with Luke she’d taken that sad, desperate streak one step further and added hot sex to the mix.

Way to go, Cassie. You really know how to make yourself feel like a total loser.

He didn’t say anything, just continued to study her with that steady, inquisitive gaze.

She popped off the stool and reached for the dirty plates again. ‘I’ll do the dishes,’ she said, fairly sure their ‘talk’ was over.

‘Sit down,’ he said, before she could pick up the plates.

She plopped her bottom back on the stool, obeying him without question, and then wanted to kick herself for being such a doormat.

But then she spotted the shadows in his eyes and the pancakes flipped over in her stomach.

Was that pity? The same pity she’d seen last night? She tried not to let it humiliate her. But somehow she knew she deserved it. She’d lost her cool last night, exposed herself to ridicule and worse, and then tried to regain some semblance of control by igniting the explosive chemistry they shared.

She owed him an explanation...

She just didn’t want to give him one.

‘I really am sorry,’ she said.

‘Cassandra,’ he replied, his tone firm enough to make her gaze shoot to his. ‘What the hell makes you think I want an apology? For any of it?’

Luke watched conflicting emotions march across Cassandra’s expression in quick succession—surprise, guilt, shame, caution, confusion—and wondered how he could ever have mistaken her for a spy.

The woman was an open book. Even when she wanted to, she couldn’t hide what she felt or thought.

But what should have pleased him and reassured him only disturbed him more. He shouldn’t have taken what she’d offered last night, and he sure as hell shouldn’t have carried her up to his bedroom and slept with her in his arms the entire night, acutely aware of every shift, every sigh, every moan.

Where had the desire to protect her come from?

She wasn’t his responsibility, and certainly wasn’t his problem.

But they’d both crossed a line last night that couldn’t be uncrossed. And the worst thing was he was pretty sure he didn’t even want to uncross it any more.

He’d set a number of precedents with Cassandra, right from the first moment he’d met her—maybe even before that. When he’d spotted her standing on the other side of the arbour at the wedding party in that stunning dress and been captivated.

Wanting her was one thing—he’d desired women before her. Maybe not with quite the same level of passion and urgency, or the same staggeringly intense results, but when had he lost sight of an objective so easily before?

He never brought dates to the island. This was his sanctuary, his safe place, but he’d brought her here after knowing her for precisely an hour.

And, what was worse, once he’d believed her capable of industrial espionage, instead of getting her out of here by whatever means necessary, he’d made all sorts of excuses to allow her to stay. He’d used reasoning he could see now was deeply flawed, because what he’d really been doing was encouraging an intimacy he’d believed himself immune from.

But he didn’t feel immune. Not now. Not after last night.

She’d got to him. Not only as she’d clung to him in fear and then passion, but before that—when he’d spotted her watching him in the cove and a part of him had wanted her to look her fill.

Having her stay here any longer was fraught with all sorts of dangers. Dangers he needed to guard against. He’d been dumb thinking he could indulge himself, indulge her, and not worry about the consequences. Letting her get any closer would be a mistake.

‘I feel like an absolute fool,’ she said, her voice breaking on the words. ‘I’m glad you don’t require an apology, but that doesn’t make what happened any less...’ She huffed out a breath. ‘Mortifying.’

The emotion he’d been keeping a tight rein on swelled in his chest, making his ribs ache, but he was ready for it this time.

She’d always been able to captivate him with her candour—even when he’d wanted to doubt her, he’d struggled to doubt that—but maybe it was time to use her transparency to his advantage, and finally get answers to the questions which had tortured him every time she’d stirred during the night.

‘Do you know where it came from?’ he asked. ‘Your phobia?’

She glanced up, her eyes widening. ‘It’s not a phobia. That’s... That’s ridiculous. I just don’t like the dark. And it was exceptionally dark. Living in London, I’m not used to that.’

It was the same excuse she’d given him last night. He could have left it at that, let her get away with the lie. But the feel of her collapsed in his arms, clinging, scared, not herself, was still far too fresh. He hated thinking of her like that, vulnerable and afraid, because it reminded him of demons from his own childhood.

‘Cassandra, you went totally to pieces,’ he said. ‘That’s not you. You’re tough. But even strong people have no control over irrational fear if it’s the result of trauma. I know. When I—’ He stopped abruptly, clamped his mouth shut, then thrust his fingers through his hair, shocked that he’d almost shared something he’d kept secret for so long.

This was about Cassandra—not him. And while he might trust her more than he had yesterday, he wasn’t dumb enough to trust anyone that much.

Luckily, she seemed too lost in her own misery to have noticed his slip.

‘If that’s not a phobia, I don’t know what is...’ he finished.

She continued to stare at her fingers, clasped tightly in her lap. But finally she nodded. ‘I suppose I never thought of it like that, but I guess you’re right,’ she said, so softly he almost didn’t hear her. ‘I always thought I had a handle on it, that I could manage it. It’s humiliating to realise it was just waiting to hijack me all this time.’

The honest, forthright statement, the admission of weakness, of doubt, and the bravery required for her to speak about it aloud, had his heart swelling to press against his larynx.

He swallowed. Forced the feeling back where it belonged. Mostly...

‘So you do know what caused it?’ he asked carefully, not sure any more if he should be taking this route, but unable to stop himself now.

She nodded again, then met his gaze, her rich caramel eyes so open and candid and her expression so frank and yet defenceless it made his heartbeat slow to a crawl.

‘The night my mother died...’

He watched her throat contract sharply as she swallowed.

‘I lied when I said I don’t remember her. But what I do remember isn’t much. I was only four. And she was ill for a long time. My nanny used to take me in to see her. I used to love lying on the bed beside her, just listening to her voice. It was so calm. So full of love, I suppose. But as she got sicker her smell changed, and she couldn’t speak any more. I hated that smell—chemicals and sickness and a too-sweet scent which I realised years later was morphine. That last night...’ She hesitated. ‘The night she died... The room was shadowy and dark and scary. I didn’t want to sit with her. She wasn’t my mummy any more. I cried. I don’t think she knew what was happening...’

She coughed, and he could hear the sandpaper in her throat.

‘Gosh, I hope she didn’t know. But my father was very angry with me. He called me weak. Pathetic.’

‘You were just a little kid—what the heck did he expect?’ Luke said, his anger for that small child blindsiding him.

She looked up, her gaze dazed and unfocussed, lost in memory. ‘He was grieving. I don’t blame him. After that night...after she was gone... I couldn’t sleep unless I had a light on in my room. I knew how much he disapproved.’

Her father was clearly almost as much of a bastard as Gino Leprince. But Luke forced himself not to make the comparison. He’d already let too much slip. Anyhow, his father’s crimes, his own past, weren’t relevant to her trauma. And they sure as heck weren’t going to make this thing between them—whatever it was—any less disturbing.

She pressed a hand to her hair, pushing the damp strands behind her ear, drawing his gaze to her clear skin. The lack of make-up made her look so young and vulnerable.

He clenched his fingers until the knuckles whitened, trying to resist the urge to capture her chin in the palm of his hand and kiss the lips he had feasted on the night before.

Things had got way too serious, way too fast. It was time for some damage limitation. He didn’t know what he’d expected to happen when he’d quizzed her about her phobia. But it hadn’t been the terrifying feeling of connection that was now all but choking him.

She’d been open with him; it was time he was open with her in return.

‘Listen, Cassandra... The Wi-Fi signal returned this morning. I’m staying here for another five days on vacation and flying back to the city on Saturday. But if you need to leave I can call you a water taxi back to the mainland today.’

‘If you need to leave...’

Luke’s offer was such a shock it took Cassie several pregnant moments to process it...and her knee-jerk reaction. But I don’t want to go. I want to stay here, with you.

Which was totally insane. Of course she should leave. He was offering her a way out of the predicament which had caused her so much anxiety since Saturday morning.

If she left now she would be able to do a much more comprehensive report for Temple—after all that was the only reason she was even in the US. But she couldn’t seem to concentrate on her responsibilities to Temple Corp. All she could focus on was the deep yearning that had nothing whatsoever to do with her career and everything to do with the unreadable expression on Luke’s face as he waited for her answer.

And that was the weirdest thing of all...

Her career had always been such a huge part of who she was. It was the one thing—the only thing, really—that had ever made her feel entirely whole. She’d devoted so much of her life to it. Not just to prove to her father she had value, but to prove it to herself. And she’d sacrificed so much to get where she was now, in a trusted executive position at Temple Corp which had the potential to be so much more.

She’d risked it all four nights ago for one night of pleasure. And she’d berated herself for that catastrophic mistake every night since. She never compromised her career; she always did the best possible job she could. And this assignment was important. To Temple and to her.

But as she sat on the stool in Luke’s kitchen, her stomach weighed down by the pancakes he’d made her, his face an unreadable mask, just one thing he’d said to her—unbidden and unexpected—as he’d asked about her phobia reeled through her head.

‘You’re tough.’

And what that meant.

You have value.

It was the one thing no other man had ever said to her. Not even her father. Because no man had ever known her as well as this man had come to know her after only a few days.

And with that realisation came the knowledge that all her hard work—all the late nights, the missed weekends, the lost friendships, the dedication to her job above everything else which had minimised her personal life—didn’t seem worth as much any more as it always had, because of one crucial reality that had only become clear in the last three days.

While trying to impress her father and make him realise something Luke had acknowledged without even being asked, she was in danger of becoming him. A ruthless workaholic who had nothing in his life outside his job. Maybe she wasn’t there yet, because Ash’s expansive friendship—the only social connection she’d managed to maintain in the last four years—had added joy and warmth and humour and an adorable flakiness to her life. But she couldn’t rely on Ash for ever to stand between her and the threat of turning into the kind of sterile, soulless, embittered person her father had eventually become after her mother’s death.

She had to find her own path, her own personal joy. And, while she knew what she had discovered in Luke Broussard’s arms last night, and then in his bed, was not going to last, for the first time in as long as she could remember she felt fully alive. Fully engaged. Fully seen.

She didn’t want to lose that. Not yet. Not until she had to.

And so she found the courage to say what she really wanted to say.

‘I could stay here and check out other investment prospects online until you head back to the city. Unless you really want me to leave today?’

His eyebrows lifted, and she could see he hadn’t expected the question. Then his brows flattened, his gaze becoming even more intense as he studied her... And a part of her—a big, empty part of her—immediately wanted to take the suggestion back.

What was she doing?

What if he said no?

How compromised would she feel?

Why was she giving him the power to reject her?

What was she really hoping to achieve by staying?

But before any of those misgivings had a chance to come out of her mouth, or even really queue up in her brain, his lips quirked on one side in that devastating half-smile—so hot, so confident—that she had become completely addicted to, and he said, ‘I don’t want you to leave today.’

Her heart leapt in her chest.

She didn’t have to go. He wanted her to stay. Sort of...

So she gave herself permission to go with her gut again...for the first time since Friday night.

‘Then I’d be happy to stay until the weekend, too,’ she said. ‘If you’re okay with that.’

His eyes flashed with something so hot and fierce and possessive she was surprised it didn’t burn her.

‘I’m more than okay with that...’ His smile sharpened as he reached out and hooked her hair behind her ear, the touch light but devastating, and added, ‘On one condition. No work while you’re here. This is a vacation. And we’ve got more than enough things we could be doing to occupy the time,’ he said, the passion in his gaze making it crystal-clear exactly what those ‘things’ might entail.

Need throbbed at her core, but somehow she clung to the last remnants of practicality...and professionalism.

‘But I have to work on an investment report that doesn’t include Broussard Tech for Temple...’ She began, but he pressed his finger to her lips to silence her.

‘How long have you got before your trip finishes?’ he asked.

‘Until next Friday,’ she said, her breath catching when his finger trailed down her neck to drift across her collarbone. She couldn’t think when he was looking at her like that... As if he might jump her at any minute... As if he wanted to do things that would make her moan...

‘That’s heaps of time. I know some great start-ups ripe for investment. I’ll put you in touch with them once we’re back in the city. Okay?’

She found herself nodding, still mesmerised by the desire and purpose in his eyes. When had any man ever looked at her with such hunger...such promise?

‘Okay...’ she managed, because he seemed to require some kind of answer.

‘But no talk of Temple or your job for the next five days? Understood?’ he murmured, and that caressing finger dipped to circle her nipple through the sweater.

She choked off a sigh as he plucked and played with the turgid peak.

‘Understood, Cassandra?’ he demanded, still watching, his smile sharpening with devastating intent.

‘Yes, absolutely...’ she said, not even sure what she was agreeing to any more as need exploded at her core.

‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘We’re gonna have a great vacation,’ he murmured, lifting his caressing hand to circle her neck and draw her closer. ‘As long as you understand, cher, that when we leave here it’s over.’

It was what she’d assumed—what she’d always known to be true. All he’d done was say what she was already thinking. This connection between them wasn’t about love, or anything romantic. It was more prosaic. It was about need, and desire, and maybe—for her—about changing priorities which had held her prisoner for too long. It was about going with her instincts, giving herself permission to live a little... Heck, to live a lot.

But even so, once he’d said it with such finality, she felt a hollow tug in her chest.

She dismissed it. Forced it back where it belonged, in the box marked This is just a sexual adventure, and let the hunger reign.

‘I know,’ she said, so desperate now she could hardly breathe. ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

‘Bien,’he said, then threaded his fingers through her hair and angled her face for his kiss.

Anticipation shimmered down to her core as she grasped his waist. His hot breath skimmed over her cheek and her heart soared.

‘Let’s take this upstairs,’ he murmured. ‘Where it belongs.’

She barely had a chance to nod before he’d lifted her into his arms and headed out of the kitchen, leaving their dirty dishes and the last of her sanity behind.

Excitement rushed through her, blasting away the last of her thoughts about anything other than feeding this hunger. She would take this chance. Take everything Luke Broussard had to offer over the next five days. Not just spectacular no-strings sex, but the chance to indulge in all the things she’d denied herself for so long.

Freedom, exhilaration, excitement, fun.

But as he marched up the stairs, holding her in his arms, she couldn’t quite ignore the weight in her chest warning her she was already more invested in this moment—this man—than she had any right to be.